


A Film Noir

by rant_girl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Detectives, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Private Investigators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 11:52:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14933754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rant_girl/pseuds/rant_girl
Summary: When Sam's fiancé turns up dead, he returns to the family business in hopes of finding just who is responsible.





	A Film Noir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweetheartdean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetheartdean/gifts).



> Written for the 2018 [Wincest Reverse Bang](https://wincest-reverse.livejournal.com/) for the very entirely too lovely and incredibly talented [sammytoyourclyde](http://sammytoyourclyde.tumblr.com/)'s gorgeous art. I cannot thank her enough for being so kind and sweet and for her patience and understanding. All my love ♥♥

The blonde walked alone that night. The city bathed in blue. It was the perfect kind of night for just such a stroll. The air warm enough that it was not necessary to wear a coat. The faint beat of music spilling out into the streets from an open club door, informing the movement of her feet.

Elsewhere in the city there were two bodies moving to a very different beat. A rhythm of their own making. Full symphonies shared betwixt eyes of green and liquid gold, sometimes blue and all the hues in between. The colours changed, but their verse was always the same. _Love. Brother. Mine._ Louder to them than any audible sound. The creak of the bed springs. The knock of the headboard on the wall. The pressing and parting of lips. The push and pull of the air. Grunts and moans. The slapping of flesh on flesh. Names hoarsely whispered as they tip over the precipice…

Back down on the ground and several blocks away, our blonde stops. A chill creeping up her spine. She glances over her shoulder. No one there. No sign of any life other than her own. Still. She picked up her pace when she pushed on. Cutting down an alleyway to her left. That’s not the way home. She turned with a gasp, the streetlight flickering and burning out, plunging her into darkness. An early curtain call.

Clip.

Clip.

Clip.

Clip.

A redhead stood above her lifeless form, “What a waste.”

The blonde’s eyes open to the heavens, but not a thing glimmered there no more.

\--

The following morning.

It was a day not dissimilar to any other given day in the offices of Winchester & Sons. 

Mary Winchester smiled, taking the scotch, poured by her son, in her hand and they clinked their glasses together. Another job well done. 

As much as she was glad for the work, she was always happiest when they could put a client in the rearview mirror. Most cases were of the mundane variety. Reuniting folks with their property. Tracking down missing persons. Or catching adulterers. 

“Gotta call from your latest _Betty_ earlier.”

“Yeah? What she want?”

“You know what. Dean, how many times do I have to tell you? I don’t care who you wile away the dull hours with. You can chase all the skirts you desire. Just, quit giving them our card.”

“Hey, we got business outta a few of ‘em.”

“Dean.”

“Okay, Ma. I hear you. Message received.”

“It’s all I ask.”

She couldn’t help but smile as she watched him take a drink from his glass, he was a good man with a big heart, it was just already taken, but her smile fell when her youngest appeared in the door, “Sam?”

Dean was on his feet before the name had left her mouth, but he didn’t move forward, not just yet, still under the illusion that Mary didn’t know their true nature, “What are you doing here?”

Sam hadn’t worked with them for almost two years, kid had wanted to go off and become some fancy lawyer. Didn’t stop him from seeing his brother on the regular. And Mary saw him some too. But he hadn’t set foot in the office. Until now. 

“She’s dead.”

“Who?” Mary asked, even knowing it could only be one person, one girl who could put such a look on her boy’s face, didn’t make her want to believe it.

“No,” falling from Dean’s lips, tears already in his voice, his heart always ready to break for his brother, but he wouldn’t let them spill.

“Jessica never made it home last night. They found her in some alley, not far from Harvelle’s.” Sam’s voice cracked.

“Sam,” Mary spoke softly, cupping his cheek as she led him to one of the chairs in front of her desk, pushed him to sit.

“We have to find who killed her,” Sam all but whispered, turning his head out of her palm.

She took a breath.

“Why don’t you boys go to the crime scene. I’ll hit the morgue”

“No. I have to see her.”

“Okay. I’ll take the crime scene,” there was no point arguing with him. Once Sam had set his mind to something there was nothing could make him change it. She lifted her hat and her gun, her eldest son still glued to the same spot, “Dean,” and their eyes locked, hers said _take care of him_. 

Dean nodded. Not that he needed the reminder. Ever since they lost their father Dean had taken it upon himself to be whatever Sam needed him to be.

He only moved when she closed the inner office door. But as soon as he got near Sam, Sam got up, “Don’t,” brushing past Dean in his haste. 

“Sam.”

“If you touch me…” 

_It’ll remind me of what we were doing last night while my fiancé was being murdered._

“I don’t have time to fall apart. I need to find Jessica’s killer.”

“Okay,” Dean said softly, “Then that’s what we’ll do,” he nodded in the direction of the door, “Come on, let’s get to it.”

[ ](http://sammytoyourclyde.tumblr.com/)

\--

It didn’t take her long to find it. One call to the police department was all it took. She didn’t want to bother Sam for further details. And she hadn’t expected the Chief of Police to be there when she arrived. But then she wasn’t surprised. 

“Dad.”

“Mary.”

“This is it?” she asked, eyes scanning over the now empty alleyway, “No blood?”

She ducked under the tape, the only thing there to suggest that there had in fact been a crime.

“No blood. No weapon. No sign one was even used–”

“What killed her?” she turned back to her father.

“You tell me, you know of a weapon that doesn’t leave a mark?”

She didn’t, “Witnesses?”

“Residents across the way claim to have seen a redhead leaving the alley at approximately twenty-two hundred hours.” 

“They didn’t see Jessica?”

“Nope. No one else saw or heard a thing go in or out of this alleyway all night.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“We can only work with the information we’re given.”

“ _Right_. So, whose pocket are we in favour of this time?”

“You ever get tired of being so righteous all the time?”

Mary kept her head held high, “Just of the men like you who think it’s their place to tell me mine.” 

Samuel puffed out his chest and gave her a hard look, but he didn’t follow through, changing his tack, “We’ll be needing to have a sit down with that kid of yours.”

“Excuse me?”

“Fiancé turns up dead. And I hear tell he’s got a piece on the side.”

“If you think Sam is capable–”

“Like I said. We need to talk. You make sure he stays in town.”

\--

When they entered the Coroner’s, Dean was struck by two things; the silence. Charlie was a Swing kind of girl, loved anything she could move her feet to. It was as much part of her process as the instruments on her table. And her father was there. He’d all but left the business to his daughter. He was practically never there. What made today so special?

Couldn’t be his ties to Police Chief Campbell?

Dean tipped his hat to Mr. Bradbury on their way past. Sam barely lifted his chin in the old man’s direction. But both Winchesters slid their hats from their heads in the exact same moment in the exact same way before they entered the examination room.

“Sam,” Charlie’s eyes wide, but the _what are you doing here_ never left her lips, she knew. She just hadn’t expected.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dean said accepting Charlie into his arms in greeting, while Sam stepped closer to the examination table. To _her_. 

His hands shook as he placed one on her abdomen, the other resting on her head, “Jessica,” he exhaled, the tremor taking hold of his voice. Dean put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. And he stilled, taking strength from his big brother.

“What did…how did...?” Sam started, but he couldn’t get the words to form.

“Asphyxiation,” Charlie answered.

“But there’s no–”

“No ligature marks, no bruising, though cyanosis is evident around the nose and mouth. Larynx and hyoid appear to be intact. But there is some internal swelling of the windpipe. Lividity puts time of death approximately between the hours of nine and eleven last night,” Charlie said as if reading back her notes, but she didn’t take her eyes from Jessica’s body until she was done, “I’m **so** sorry, Sam.” 

Sam gave a curt nod, and Dean let go of him, walking around the table. He took a hold of Jessica’s hand, somehow still unprepared for the cold of it, though he knew it would be. Jessica had had one of those smiles that could light up a room, had always brought out Sam’s too. Dean’s brow scrunched, arch set to his eyebrow as he really felt her hand, turning his own to smooth his thumb over her ring finger.

“Where’s mom’s ring?”

“What?” Sam asked.

“Her engagement ring. She’s not wearing it,” Dean’s gaze shifting from Sam to Charlie, “Was her finger bare when she came in? You didn’t take it off?” 

“No. There was no ring,” Charlie grabbing her notes as both she and Sam joined Dean on the other side of Jessica’s body.

“She wouldn’t take it off?”

“No,” Sam said a little too firmly, he shook his head, speaking more softly this time, “No. I don’t think so.”

“We should check her apartment,” Dean said, and Sam nodded absently, taking hold of Jessica’s hand.

Dean shared a glance with Charlie and they left Sam to have his moment.

\--

Sam hadn’t been much help at Jessica’s, Dean had done most of the actual investigating. Sam kept stopping to examine particular items. Dean left him to it.

“I don’t see it, man. It’s definitely not here. I think you’re right. It was taken.”

“Why didn’t I meet with her?”

“What?”

“She asked me to go for a walk with her. But I told her I already had plans…”

Their eyes met and then they both looked away again. 

_Right_.

“I didn’t think–. If I’d just–”

“Hey,” and it took everything in Dean not to put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, Sam’s guard was back up and he didn’t want to risk it, “don’t do that. There’s no way you could have known.”

Sam didn’t say anything, eyes staying on the floor.

“We should head to Harvelle’s.”

That made Sam pick his head up.

Dean held up a note he’d found on Jessica’s kitchen counter.

_Harvelle’s 9.30_

\--

_I'll never smile again_  
_Until I smile at you_  
_I'll never laugh again_  
_What good would it do_ …* 

They stood transfixed in the entranceway as they listened to Donna’s song. They’d arrived right smack in the middle of rehearsal. 

“Dean Winchester, I was just starting to wonder why it felt so handsome in here all of a sudden.”

“Billie,” Dean bowed his head as he took off his hat, holding it to his chest, “Looking radiant as ever.”

“Oh, stop,” said like _please do go on_ , and with that smile of hers, “And this must be Sam. Pleasure to meet you.”

“And I, you.”

“Can one assume you’re here to talk to the boss lady?”

“One would be right,” Dean said.

“You know where to find her,” said with a flourish of her hand, as she sashayed on over to the stage for her own opening number. 

Sam and Dean moved towards the bar just as Ellen emerged from her office, “A day call? And long faces? That can only mean official business, but I’m sensing it’s personal? This wouldn’t have anything to do with that poor girl they found couple of blocks from here?” 

They both nodded solemnly.

Ellen nodded too, slipping in behind the bar, and setting two glasses down before them, “What can I get you boys?”

Before Dean could say whiskey, Sam said, “Just information.” 

Dean tipped his head back, curbing the urge to sigh, shaking his head as he looked back at Ellen, “You wouldn’t happen to have known a Jessica Moore?”

“Tall, pretty, blonde thing?”

“She was here?” Dean asked.

“She was.”

“What for?” Sam and Dean ended up saying together.

“Audition.”

The brothers shared a look and Dean threw up his hand, letting Sam take the lead, “She auditioned? For what?”

“Chuck’s new vision. Man gets a typewriter thinks he’s Shakespeare. But he’s got the lettuce to rent the space. And I got a morbid curiosity for what passes as a masterpiece in that head of his.”

“Ellen.” Dean urged.

“She came in here the other day. Looking to audition for me. Told her I didn’t know what a soon-to-be-married woman would need to audition for.”

“She loves– loved,” Sam’s voice cracked, “to sing.”

And Ellen took a beat before continuing, “She wasn’t too bad. But I already got me two girls. They’re not looking to share with a third. But Chuck and his bleeding heart. He overheard. Handed her a script told her to audition for him. For a part he’d already promised my Donna. But he gave her a shot. Was going to put her in the chorus. Wanted to see how she held up with a real audience. So, I had her come in last night, sing back-up for the ladies. It’s a real shame. Part was hers. Way she walked outta here? She was on cloud nine.”

“Did she leave on her own? You didn’t see her talking to anybody? Or maybe anyone following her?” Sam practically pleaded.

Ellen shook her head, “Sorry. She was on her own last I saw her. You wanna talk to Chuck?” she pulled up a notepad from beneath the bar, and started writing, tearing the sheet off, “Here. You’ll find him at this address.”

“Thanks, Ellen,” Dean took the paper from her.

“Hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Thanks,” Dean gave her a half smile, getting his hands on Sam to turn him. 

“You wanna check this out now?” Dean asked, waving the piece of paper, between his two fingers, in front of Sam’s face.

“Nah. Why don’t you catch up with mom, and you two can check it out. I got something I need to do.”

“Okay, Sammy.”

\--

Sam had watched Ruby pull on her coat, turning her lamp off for the day, she didn’t so much as flinch when he stepped into frame of her door, “Going somewhere?”

She was the most tenacious reporter the city had ever seen. She left no story unturned. Or so she liked to claim.

“Just home. You’re welcome to join me,” her eyes lingering below his belt as she looked him up and down. Sam’s eyes narrowing as they returned to his.

“I think I’ll pass.”

“Been doing that a lot these days, haven’t we, Sam? Well if this isn’t a _social_ call. Make it quick. What are you after?”

“The truth.”

She smirked, “Think you can handle it? Think sweet little Jessica could have?”

Ruby gasped when Sam slammed her up against the wall, “You don’t get to say that name.”

“And what would you like me to say?” she asked, casual arch to her brow like she didn’t have one of his big hands on her throat.

“Did you do it?”

“Did I do what? Kill her? Nice to know what you think of me.”

“You were always jealous. Admit it.”

“Oh please. I was jealous of the chaste delicate little flower? Think I need you to make doe eyes at me to make me feel all dewy and like a woman? That I don’t like it when you hurt me just. Like. _This_? Unleash your dark nature?”

“I’m not like that,” Sam said, dropping his hand to his side. 

“Aren’t you? Did you ever consider that maybe your brother did it? Maybe he couldn’t stand losing you for good?”

“Dean wouldn’t–. He wouldn’t hurt me like this.”

“Only in the ways you ask him to?”

“Maybe I should be hurting you.”

Ruby gave him a look that said _I promise to be bad if you do_ and then shrugged, “You should be thanking me.”

“ _Thanking_ you? For what?”

“Your alibi. Seems Granddaddy Police Chief Campbell is looking at you as his prime suspect. Told him you were _with_ me.”

Sam huffed.

“No love lost there, huh? Can you imagine if I’d told him the truth? All the nasty little things you do with that brother of yours. What he’d do to you. To Dean–”

“Okay. Enough. How are you spinning this, Ruby?”

“No spin,” she arched her hand through the air, “‘Young Girl Dies Tragically In Alley’ it writes itself.”

“Really? You have no leads?”

“Act of God? I read the police report, no blood, no weapon, no nothing. Girl just died. It happens. Face it, Sam. You only want to assign blame because you feel guilty.”

Sam hung his head, she wasn’t wrong. But he knew there was more to her death, he could feel it in his bones, “If you come across anything–”

“I’ll let you know.”

\--

“So, how’s Sam holding up?” Mary asked as they got into the car.

Dean threw up his hands with a shrug, gently slapping them down onto the steering wheel, “I don’t know. He’s keeping it together right now, ‘cause he has to but–”

“You’ll be there to catch him if he falls.”

“Right,” Dean nodded, flexing and drumming his fingers against the wheel, he took a moment, and then started up the engine. It didn’t take long to get to Chuck’s place.

Guy opened his door in his bathrobe, “Can I help you?”

“I’m Dean, this is Mary. Private detectives. We’re here to ask you about a young woman who auditioned for you, Jessica Moore. You wanted her to be in the chorus?”

“Ah. Yes. I remember her.”

“What do you remember?” Mary asked.

“She was pretty enough. Decent voice too. Taller than the lead though. Shame.”

“You considered her for the lead?” Dean’s brow drawing together.

“Well, no. But like I said. Decent voice. Sweet girl. Her enthusiasm for my work was greatly appreciated. So very sad to hear of her passing.”

Dean bit back a sigh, “Did you see her, or talk with her before she left Harvelle’s last night?”

“I told her she was in. And then–” Chuck shrugged, “I don’t really remember.”

Mary gave the barest shake of her head, hand on her hip, “You didn’t see her talking to anyone else?”

“Not last night. But at the auditions? Saw her talking to the redhead afterwards.”

“What redhead?”

“The redhead. She didn’t audition. Must have stayed in the back. Didn’t know she was there ‘til after. Hair was long. Wearing all black. Gave me the heebie-jeebies.”

Dean arched an eyebrow, “The heebie-jeebies?”

Chuck shuddered, shaking his head, “Wouldn’t want to cross paths with her.”

\--

The next day.

Redheads weren’t what you’d call dime a dozen. They were rare. Could probably count the city’s number on one hand. And one who inspired unease brought only one name to Dean’s mind. 

_Rowena_ The Great and Powerful. 

She was a fortune teller in one of the swankiest hotels in town. 

Dean rolled his eyes as he swept back the bright purple material draped across the entrance to her mystic whatever she was calling it. Chamber? 

“Welcome to the Mystic Realm of Knowledge and the Divine, it is I, Rowena, The Great and Powerful, here as your spiritual guide to the answers you seek.”

“Now, what brings a pair of strapping young lads such as yourselves to my humble abode?”

“Well I’m–” Sam had started but Rowena held up a hand.

“Ah, ah, ah. Don’t say another word. You…are…the Winchesters. Sam and Dean?”

Sam tried again, “Yes, and we’d like–” 

“And you are here, for Jessica?”

“Yes. Can you–”

“To gain full, unencumbered knowledge of the mystic, you must first cross my palm with silver, to shift the fogs of the celestial plains.” She closed her eyes, the middle finger of her left hand pressed to her temple, her right hand extended towards Sam.

Sam covered his face with his hands, shaking his head as he dragged them down. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, tongue sweeping out over his lip, letting his teeth sink into the corner as he threw up his hands. Reluctantly taking money from his pocket and placing it into her outstretched hand.

“The spirits thank you.”

“What do you see?”

“Take a seat.”

Rowena sat in what could only be described as a throne behind a velvet covered table. Hands hovering, poised over the crystal ball in the centre, which she started to move when they sat down.

“I see. N. N. Neg. Ne–, ga? Neg-ligent? Neg-lect? No. Neg-ative? Negan!”

“Negan?”

“That’s the one,” she said with a snap of her fingers.

“What about him?”

“There’s a very strong connection.”

“To Jessica?”

Her lips pursed as she closed her eyes, head turned to the side, “I’m getting, Negan. And he seems to be surrounded by a powerful female force. Something not of this world. Something, not natural. Not here? Your Jessica did not pass from this world by natural means…there’s a red mist wrapped round her neck…”

“What does that mean? Can you see her?”

“She’s fading.”

“No,” Sam said louder than he perhaps intended, he swallowed hard, his voice wavering as he said, “Jessica, please,” 

Rowena opened her eyes, “Sorry. She’s gone.”

\--

Mary sighed as she approached the door. This was the last place on Earth she wanted to be. But as soon as the kid said redhead she knew it was the place she needed to go. All the way on the very edge of the other side of the city, where gravel spilled into the trees, there was a house. A mansion. Home to the most notorious mob boss the city had ever seen. Or not seen. That was part of his power. Very few got to know his face. All came to know his reputation. With another sigh she took the last couple of steps and knocked. 

“ _Mary_. Long time, no see.”

“Josie,” Mary stepped around her into the foyer.

“It’s Abaddon now.”

Of course it was.

“I need to see him.”

 _Abaddon_ tilted her head to the side, equal parts amused and furious, “You think you can just waltz in here? Get face time with the boss? He doesn’t have the time–”

“Oh, he’ll make the time for me. Tell him I’m here, unless he wants folks to know who he really is.”

“Wait here.”

Abaddon slipped out of the room and further into the house, leaving Mary in the incapable hands of goons numbers three and four.

And she wasn’t surprised when yet another lackey appeared to escort her to ‘Negan’s’ office.

Their eyes locked the second she stepped into the room. Neither breathing a word until the door closed behind her.

“Mary!” he said, shit-eating grin on his face, like he was happy to see her.

“Hello, John,” she said evenly. Mary didn’t care what identity he’d carved out for himself or for the _empire_ he’d built. To her he would always be, John. Even if the man she knew, the man she’d fallen in love with no longer existed.

“What brings a fair maiden such as yourself all the way to my side of town?”

“Did you kill her?”

“What, no pleasantries? Just cutting right to the chase. You always did have a brass set.”

“Did you kill her?”

“Her who? I’m gonna need a little bit more to go on, Sweetheart.”

“Drop the bullshit, John. Just answer the question. Did you kill our son’s fiancé?”

“You think I would?”

“I think your Lieutenant’s not been swanning all over town for a milk run. Word is she was spotted, not once, but twice within the same vicinity as Jessica. Second time was leaving the alley her body was left in.”

“You didn’t confront her at the door.” It wasn’t a question.

“I wanted to talk to you first.”

“Abaddon. In here. Now,” he called out, lowering his tone to add, “Order never came from me.”

“Yes, Sire?”

“You kill the girl?”

“Sweet little blonde thing? No. Shame though, would have loved a chance at corrupting her.”

Mary punched her, on principle, split her lip clean.

Abaddon chuckled darkly but John held up a hand to stop any kind of retaliation.

“Did you see who did it?” Mary asked.

“Just the body.”

“Leave us,” John gave her a dismissive wave. 

Abaddon smirked, fire in her eyes, “Always a pleasure, Mary. Boss,” giving John a two-fingered salute.

Mary watched her go, turning her eyes back on him, “I should be going too.”

“You don’t want to stay?”

“I got what I came for.”

“What about the ring?”

That stopped her.

“Oh, I don’t have it. But it does make you wonder doesn’t it? I’m surprised you kept it. Figured you’d hawk it for rent.”

“I’m not the one who walked away. Burnt a lot of bridges doing it too. If it wasn’t for Henry–”

“How _is_ dear old dad?

“Better off thinking you’re dead. Just like _my_ boys.”

“Now is that any way to talk to your husband?”

“You stopped being my husband a long time ago, before you ever decided to leave us.”

\--

Negan? 

Dean had always been half convinced that he was more myth than man. The bogeyman for crooks, make them stay in line. Rowena hadn’t gotten much more specific than that. For all he knew, they could still be dealing with a collective. But the thought that he might actually be real and in the singular flesh? It was hard to digest. And in Dean’s opinion, thoughts went down a whole lot better with a bacon cheeseburger. 

The bell jingled as they entered the diner. Dean headed straight for his usual seat at the counter, and Sam followed. 

“Dean, good to see you, my brother,” came the usual greeting from the owner, “What can I do you for?”

“Right back at you, brother. Just the usual. And a cheeseburger for him,” and Dean paused as if it physically pained him to have to say what he had to say, “No bacon.”

And the two shared a look.

“ _No bacon_ got a name?”

“This is my brother, Sam. Biological.”

“Nice to meet you, Sam. I’m Benny.” 

“Likewise,” Sam said, and they shook hands.

“Sorry it’s not under better circumstances. I’m sorry for your loss. She was one hell of a lady.”

“You knew Jessica?” Sam perked up.

“Came in here all the time.”

“You hear anything, Benny?” Dean asked.

“Wishing I had.”

“What about a redhead?”

“Other than our Charlie? Might have seen one by here the other night. Skirt without a skirt. Wears pants like your mama does, but none of her class. Think she works for that Negan fellow. Now if you excuse me.”

Benny ducked into the kitchen to cook up their order.

The Winchesters looked at each other, and Sam slapped a hand into Dean’s chest, “That’s the second time his name has come up.”

Dean gave Sam’s arm a quick jab in retaliation, rubbing where Sam had hit him, “But it doesn’t make a lick of sense. He’s got no reason.”

“Does he need a reason?”

“Generally? Yeah. Jessica was good by every definition. You’ll never find a girl more virtuous or true. She had no entanglements with anybody. Least of all him.”

“Maybe he fixated on her–”

“He didn’t,” Mary interjected.

“Mom? How do you–”

“I just got back from seeing him.”

“You what?” said in unison.

“I went to him. We talked. He’s not behind this.”

“And you _trust_ him?” Sam asked, incredulity in his voice.

“Like your brother said. He’s got no reason. He doesn’t go around murdering innocents. And you saw her. She was unmarked.”

And there it was. Maybe they were just chasing their tails on this one. 

But Sam didn’t think so, “Where’s your ring, mom?”

Her eyebrows shot up at that, and she shook her head, “Are we certain it’s connected to the murder? Maybe it’s its own separate crime? Opportunistic.”

“Who would steal a ring posthumously if not as a trophy?” Sam asked.

“Bela.” Dean said.

“Bela?” Mary’s brow scrunching.

“Bela,” Dean said again, “Has to be.”

\--

“Sorry, boys” Bela said, flicking some imaginary lint from her shoulder dispassionately, “I’m afraid it wasn’t me. Frankly I’m a little offended you think I would take part in something so ghoulish.”

“Because grave robbing and tomb raiding are so classy.” Dean said.

“Really? I don’t know what you are talking about. I’ve never had need to get my hands dirty,” not in the literal sense anyway. Dean had had numerous dealings with Bela, but she had never in fact been arrested. 

“Just other people’s,” Dean glared at her, “I forgot being a thief was such a _noble_ calling.”

“I make it a point not to get myself implicated in such unsavoury elements. You wouldn’t touch a fence when the paint was still wet.”

Dean tilted his head to the side, lips dipping into a frown in a _well…_

“Unless of course you have the emotional maturity of a five year old.”

“Hey.”

“Dean,” Sam said, holding his arm out across Dean’s chest, eyes never leaving Bela, “Do you know anything useful?”

“Look, I’ve not heard anything about a ring. I can put feelers out and if I hear anything I’ll get back to you.”

They were just about to turn to go when she said, “Wait. Sam. I am sorry for your loss. If you really want to know what’s going on in this city. You should talk to Crowley.”

“The tailor?” Sam asked, brow scrunched.

“If this is another goose chase–” Dean started but she didn’t let him get any further.

“Then that’s on you. Now if you’d please excuse me. I have a prior engagement.”

Dean stared up at the ceiling and sighed heavily as she left them. This case.

“Should we call mom?” Sam asked when Dean looked at him.

Dean shook his head, “Walk in was for a missing kid.”

“How could you tell?”

“She had the look, man. We can check in later. Mom knows we got it handled.” Whatever that meant, “Let’s move.”

\--

Crowley’s. Where the elite had all their clothing needs met. They had always figured it was a front for more nefarious means. It’s what their grandfather always told them. The Winchesters got their apparel from Turner’s. Rufus had been old and crochety long since before he even turned forty. Sam and Dean had spent a good chunk of their years in his establishment, right from they were little. He was family. Crowley on the other hand?

Place looked empty. No lights. But when Dean pushed the door it opened. And he appeared.

“Evening gents. What can I do for the Winchester boys?”

“You know who we are?” Dean asked.

“I know everyone, darling.”

“And you’re gonna help us?” Sam asked sceptically.

“Well, I never said that. But I’ll listen. Wait. Let me guess. You want to know, if I know who killed your beloved and who prized the rock from her cold dead hand?”

“Hey, watch your–”

“My apologies that was a _mite_ insensitive of me. I think the question you need to ask is who is it that stands to gain the most from her death?”

“What would anyone gain?”

Crowley gave Sam a pointed look, “I think you should have another little chat with your _former_ strumpet.”

“But Ruby–”

“Pointed the finger elsewhere. Of course. How _neat_ that her _alibi_ is the one she provided for you. Yes? Is there any bigger whore than a reporter? She tell you what she’s been up to?”

“Well she–”

“That’s right, she got you so twisted up with your own feelings, you’re not even thinking about hers. That’s assuming she has any...”

\--

_Jessica gasped, whipping around as the light burst and went out overhead, to look back into the street. Her attention pulled back into the shadows behind her at the tsking sound._

_“Wandering around all alone in the dark. Little dangerous don’t you think? Never know who you might run into.”_

_“Ruby? What are you–” Jessica’s hand going to her throat as she inexplicably started to choke, as Ruby closed her hand into a fist._

_“He–, he–, he-lp, pl-e-eas-se…”_

_“Shhh. Trying to talk? Will only make you die sooner.”_

_“Hel–. Wh-eh-chl…”_

_Jessica swayed, and Ruby held up her other hand to stop her from simply collapsing, bringing her down gently onto her back. Only unclenching her fist when Jessica’s heart had stopped._

_“Was that really necessary?” Abaddon asked as Ruby crouched down to remove the ring from Jessica’s finger._

_“Negan never specified a preference for how to leave her.”_

_“So naturally you chose dead.”_

_“You disapprove?”_

_“She would have made an attractive vessel.”_

_“Still could.”_

_“Negan likes his bodies fresh.”_

\--

Sam and Dean stared blankly at Crowley, turning their heads to look at each other and then back to the tailor. And they blinked.

Dean raised his hand, palm open, a vowel sound tripping past his lips, and then closed his fist as he looked back at Sam, who shook his head, “Say that again. She’s a what?”

“Demon,” her voice coming from behind them, made them turn so fast Dean was sure he’d damaged something in his neck.

Ruby smirked, her eyes flashing black, “And so’s he.”

Crowley snapped his fingers dropping both Winchesters to the ground. 

Unconscious. 

\--

When Sam started to wake up, the first thing he was aware of was the cold hard surface beneath his back. The second was that he couldn’t move. He fought against his restraints as he opened his eyes, “Dean?”

“I’m here, Sammy.”

“Where here?”

“Behind you,” and Sam tried to see, stretched his neck as far as he could, but the hard surface and the fact that he couldn’t move his body made it impossible for him to get the right angle.

“Where are we?”

“Nowhere good.”

“Ah, finally. You’re awake.”

“Dad?” Dean asked in an almost awed disbelief.

“Dad?” Sam was just confused, he couldn’t see the man the voice belonged to, and he hadn’t been old enough to make a concrete memory of their dad’s voice before they lost him, but he knew Dean would know, “I thought you were dead?”

“The lies your mother told you. Well surprise. Not that I could blame her. Who wants to tell their kids Daddy doesn’t love ‘em anymore? Death is far less traumatic.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sam said, craning his neck this way and that to try and get a look at him, “If you don’t care. Why’d you bring us here?”

But he didn’t get a reply.

Sam stilled when the face came into view above his own, hands resting on either side of his head, holding onto the edge, he gasped as his own eyes met Yellow.

“Turns out, you’re a very special boy.”

\--

Sam jolted awake. He swiped at the sweat on his brow as he looked at the alarm on the motel nightstand. 

Four a.m. 

It was all just a dream.

He looked over at the other bed expecting to see Dean. But it was empty.

His eyes flicking to the end of the bed, and Sam flinched. “No.”

Lucifer grinned, as the bed burst into flames, “A very special boy indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> *lyrics taken from the song "I’ll Never Smile Again" written by Ruth Lowe.


End file.
